Of Aces and Hearts
by Jessiy Landroz
Summary: In this life, there are things worse than death. Bishop POV. Progressing.
1. Chaos

Chapter One: 

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I leaned back against the leather chair, surrounded by the silence engulfing the vast space of my office, and silently glared at the brightly illuminant silver screen of the computer monitor before me.

Pushing my reading glasses up, I adjusted it on the bridge of my nose and then released a suppressed breath.

Frustration built inside of me and it was becoming rather unnerving. Eyes sore and weary, I took off the reading glasses and exchanged them with my usual black ones. Sunglasses make my eyes less erect to bright lights.

But that's the least of my problem, for we've been preparing for this operation all week, I've been supervising every step from the very beginning, but who knows if things would go as planned. With a frustrated huff I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut, and arched my throat as I threw my head back against the chair's head rest, hoping against all hope that the dull ache pounding against my skull would take a hike.

Our foe is cunning and devious, worse than those meddling turtles, worse than the Foot, and- dare I say, worse than myself.

He had been captured time and time again, yet only to escape time and time again.

If I don't put an end to this madness, it will be the death of me!

Or something along that line; not that he could kill me.

Malignus, that psychopathic nut-job with that bizarre exo-suit and a fetish to possessing people; I've never come across anyone as annoyingly challenging as him. Well, aside those blasted reptiles, but that is another matter all in itself, since Malignus is on a whole different level. He is more of a threat than they are. Attacking moronic people and manipulating them when they don't even realize it, just like any stereotypical madman trying to take over the world. Except, he's not; he's a lot smarter than I give him credit for some times.

Although Silver Sentry had captured him months ago and tossed him to the police, having that maniac pickled in a befitting prison cell, that wretched man still escaped no more than a week ago. Manipulating the few people who janitor his area, he used them to free himself. No more than three hours after that, a truck of toxic waste was high-jacked and it is making its way half way across New York as we speak. 

Malignus's destination is yet unknown, but recent reports have estimated him to be heading towards Northampton. From what my sources tell me he is probably heading to that old toxic waste station stationed somewhere along the river. If I remember, I had that place shut down months ago, but perhaps there are still living essences of toxic leftovers present?

Nevertheless, here I am now. Glaring at the bright screens of six monitors and satellite shoots, available as screenshots with each showing a watch posts check point, hoping the truck would come out of its hiding and pass by.

I need to get back that truck and retrieve its shipment to be disposed of. I cannot allow him to dispose it anywhere near city limits. Not only will it annihilate the population within days, if not hours, the president will never let us live this down! There definitely will be an uproar. Countless of snoopy reporters from all over the globe, newspapers, news channels and with the media trying to scope out what is about to happen, I'll probably lose all the funding for my projects, if not fired and booted out of the country after all of this!

Damn you, Malignus! Does he understand that if anything happened to that tank, even he won't survive any possible explosion? The contamination would not only harm him, it'll affect everything within a ten mile radius. It's radioactive and highly poisonous. He'll keel over and die for just being in a five feet radius of the actual truck.

If I recall, he always wears a mask on his face, so I wouldn't be surprised if it would filter the air he breathes, but it would still kill anyone the truck passes by on the street, if not the natural vegetation around it. There had been trails of leakage around the streets leading to Northampton with contaminated trees, and it helped us figure out the routes he was taking, but no clue where he was heading.

Somehow, it almost felt like he was just leading us in circles, a wild goose chase… If I know him as well as I think I do, I think that's his plan.

But then what? What's he about do with gallons of toxic waste in the middle of a godforsaken forest, and why?

That stolen truck had to be around there somewhere. With the amount of toxic waste aboard it, even a madman like Malignus would not want to stay at close proximity to it, which explains why the contaminated people Sentry had saved, when they fainted and nearly drove off the cliff while driving, looked so confused when they finally came to; sick and feeling horrible, but still alive for the moment.

Stupidly enough, some people still agree to work for him for meager promises of power and riches. Stupid people; I don't know why I bother trying to save their hides from possible alien invasions. Frankly enough, with their idiocy, it's no wonder aliens keep attacking this planet.

Yanked from my thoughts, a loud ring emitted from my phone. I quickly grabbed the speaker and stabbed my finger on the receive button, fully aware it was the hotline and the boys found something. "HQ here, report." I almost shouted, but kept my voice stoic, no need to get excited, I'm used on getting bad news when having high hopes with these imbeciles.

"Agent Bishop, sir." One of my men replied but with a hint of fear in his voice, probably because of my snappy answer, "The truck had been sighted near the assigned area. What are your orders, sir?" he reported.

"Scoop them out. How many people are there? What's your status?" I ordered sharply, hastily freeing a hand to follow the satellite screenshots to pin down where they located.

While waiting for an answer, I inhaled a slow and deep breath, held it in and then let it pressure against my lungs. I felt my lips draw off my teeth and a hiss emitted, frustration slowly seeped out, only mildly but not whole, while I hoped it was indeed the vehicle we were looking for.

For the past ten hours three similar trucks had passed by, but after a feverish scout and search, they were proven to be invalid targets, and were then allowed to pass. I knew Malignus had probably sent them this way to throw us off track, something told me one of those trucks were his, probably to test the waters and clear the path for the real truck to pass without us noticing.

But I'm onto him! We will not fall to that petty trick!

But there was the sound of buzzing static, followed by wind in the speaker for a moment before the man answered.

"Uh oh," I heard the man gasp, and I did not like it, not at all.

"What is it, solider? Report!" I demanded.

"There is an old car with a trailer approaching the truck, sir. They're trying to pass but it's blocking their way." he hastily replied, "An old fifties looking Cadillac, Chevrolet, It's reddish-crimson paint with a milky-white hood, I'm not too sure, the truck is blocking the view." He added.

"The driver?" I snapped, feeling my jaw ache as an ominous sensation sent a horrible chill down my spine.

He took a moment, probably looking through his binoculars for a better look, "The passenger seat has one redheaded woman, looks European, probably around four to five feet tall, adult and about twenty five to thirty years old." he began, "The driver is a black haired man, Caucasian male, about the same age and apparently stands about six feet tall." There was another second of static buzz interrupting the transmission.

But then the buzzing grew louder, and louder, and if my ears weren't playing trick on me, I would have said it sounded like a swarm of bees!

I frowned, that didn't sound the least bit comforting.

Knowing Malignus he usually hoards more people to protect and carry out his plans, and usually he uses the normal approach: Two to three men boarding the truck, not using a trailer. Also, he often sends his manipulative insects to survey the area, but as far as I know he doesn't have enough recourse, to make a whole swarm enough to make the loud buzzing. .

"Anyone else aboard? Another vehicle nearby or following perhaps?" I questioned, wanting to know if I missed something important.

"No sir. There doesn't seem to be anyone else," He informed. Then there was a stranger sound emitting from the speaker, aside the buzzing, there was now- screechy scratching sounds? "I- Hey! What the hell!" he yelped, before I heard more wind whistle and the scratching static grow louder.

I tensed, quickly pushing off the leather seat to glance at the monitor screen, browsing through each one in an attempt to find which one he was reporting from, "Respond! What is going on?" I demanded, "Report your location!"

The buzzing was closer now, so close I could have sworn bees have gathered on the speaker, "It's an ambush! We ca- AH!!" was all I could hear before the shouts started to fade, now overshadowed by the ear popping noise of buzzing. But then there were even more noises! Noises so alien I could not identify, quickly followed by a scream and then rapid gunshots.

"Answer me! Where are you?" I demanded, my fist hit the desktop and made the contents that sat on it rattle. "Report!"

"Malignus! He- he Whoa!" Cries of battle and roaring erupted, I could hear more men shouting to open fire, more buzzing…

And suddenly, as if the wire was snipped by scissors, the line went dead.

I gritted my teeth tight, slammed the speaker on the receiver, and then shouted in utter anger and frustration. I tugged at my tie to loosen its binds around my neck, then unbuttoned a button or two to let the steam of bottled frustration and anger hiss out, freed of the pressured captivity of my body like the whistling of waster bubbling inside a hot bronze kettle on a stove.

I never realized I was sweating until I touched my bare chest… I reek of sweat, actually. Another malfunction I need to fix in this body; another flaw in Stockman's brilliance, just what I needed…

I fished out a device from my pocket, seething through my teeth, I felt hot and tight and infuriated beyond reason, and I knew I can not keep everything in console if I lose it now. Hitting a significant series of buttons, I picked up the discarded phone speaker and then simply slammed it back in place, just because I had this infuriating urge to do so, before I pressed the communication device to my ear.

It didn't take long until I received a reply, because slamming the phone receiver did not make me feel any better.

"Agent Bishop, sir?" the calm voice of the silver knight replied.

"Sentry. Where are you?" I hissed, and then drew in a deep breath. I have to keep my temper in check. I guess the many hours from lack of a restful sleep are finally showing their side effects.

"At the third checkpoint as assigned, sir." He answered after a moment, probably sensing my irritation. "Are you alright, sir?" he then asked, a hint of confusion, and possible worry, were evident in his tone.

"That isn't our concern right now, Sentry." I snapped gruffly, and then tiredly pinched the bridge of my nose, the narrow space between my eyes. "We have more important things to attend to."

"Swat Team 5 had been attacked. I'm betting Malignus ambushed them. The truck with the toxicant is still on its way to Northampton, and from the monitor's screenshots it is on the main road thus far. They were at the second checkpoint when the truck got away. "I informed briskly, then inhaled a deep breath and rubbed my tired eyes, already resisting the urge to gnaw on the inside of my cheek, "Go to that location and retrieve whatever useful info you can find. In case the tank had been damaged, keep the protective suit on." I growled, sitting down again I tugged the chair towards the desk, my fingers flying over the keyboard, "Malignus should still be in the area, he might have escaped his prison, but he wont get out of it again, not alive." I vowed.

There was a pause, "Affirmative. Silver Sentry, signing out." He then replied, and then the line went dead.

I turned off the device, tossed it onto the desk with a loud clatter, and went back to my typing, faster and more furiously than before. Eyes fixed on the text as the miniature screen hummed in and out with the disturbed transmission, I let my eyes flicker across the words I've written. If there is one think I hate while writing reports, it's the pesky typos that ruin my overall effort-built work.

Regardless, whatever type of weapon it is that Malignus is using, it's powerful, but unlike his usual equipment, this seems like a more advanced and improved material.

He probably didn't have time to prepare for this mission, since he had only escaped his confinement a week ago, so when exactly did he get a mass swarm of his insects created for a possible attack to succeed?

And still, it doesn't make sense nor answer the most important questions.

Why a truck of unidentified toxic waste? Why Northampton of all places? Just what is that nut-job thinking?

As I typed in what people would call inhuman speed, I relaxed, willing my tense body to ease and tune out the discomfort, focusing on the sound of the keys as my fingers hit them. It didn't take long before my body relaxed into its natural state, collected and blank, though anger still laid dormant inside. It allowed me a few more moments to file my thoughts and try to piece them together, in hope to figure out what that nut-job was trying to accomplish.

Suddenly, there was a beep. Stealing a glance at the monitor, I spied one of the screenshots provided by the satellites.

To my surprise, it was an area that looked like a crater, but I knew better than what it showed. Wherever this place was, it was a mess. Like a giant bowl with bubbling ooze pooling in the middle, in what appeared to be the middle of the street, and what appeared to be remnants of a truck scattered about, as if blown to smithereens.

Taking a double take, it was obviously caused by some sort of enormous explosion, spreading the crater to about fifty feet wide and thirty feet deep. The ice cold chill that pummeled into the pit of my stomach did not help ease the bad omen I saw before me. The remains of a vehicle-- no, two vehicles; there were two trucks and the aforementioned car at the scene now. There were also scattered human bodies, intact or splattered to pieces. Some were horribly marred, seared bodies littered the area where bright, blackish ooze splattered everywhere.

A white speck flew into the scene. It was probably Sentry arriving a little too late. All the anger that was dormant merely seconds ago, flared back into scorching fires in an instant. I grit my teeth so tight I was surprised they did not pop out of my mouth. I could taste the blood in my mouth, I probably bit onto my tongue, but the anger was blinding and the dull ache was somewhat welcome, distracting me from my red-hazed vision.

The truck that contained the toxic waste had been destroyed, blown up somehow. I had warned them not to damage it in any way, for the results were too hazardous.

Why the hell didn't they listen to me? Now it's all over the place!

Everything within a ten mile radius will be affected and killed within the next twenty four hours, and unless we manage to shut off the area, to close it off as much as possible, because anyone who comes within range is a goner!

Glancing at the screen again, I spied Sentry wearing his protective suit, along with Ananda in her giant battle suit. I was a little startled at the sight of Dr. Dome's daughter, because I don't recall asking her to attend this mission.

I watched them linger about, they seemed to talk but the microphones were switched off, so I did not hear their conversation. A moment later they separated to scan the area, poking into the nearby bushes and trees that survived, those still standing around the surroundings of the craters. After a moment, Ananda straightened up and almost ran towards Sentry, waving the mechanical hand for him to come towards her.

When he arrived, they dwelled into the nearby bushes, and a little niggling feeling in the back of my mind wondered if the rumors about them liking each other decided to pop in. I jerked at the mere improper thought and shook my head, honesty now, Bishop! This is not the time! Besides, those kids know better than to go for a roll in the hey in a situation and a location like this!

Maybe I just need a cold shower…

They probably found something and were working to retrieve it, and from the way they diligently worked around it with the utmost care, I knew it was probably something important. I was half tempted to pick up my communicator and ask them about their findings, but I did not need to.

To my surprise, when they stepped out of the bushes, each carried a massive, yet limp figure in their arms.

They were green- like turtles? No, not just turtles, but _the_ turtles…

Why am I not surprised?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Chapter revamped, edited and reposted. Constructive critique is welcome.


	2. Awakening

Chapter Two: 

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It had been twenty four hours since the explosion.

The area had been sealed off and domes with reinforced steel.

Thus far, we just need to make sure the contaminated ground does not spread any wider, though it's easier said than done. The surrounding trees have already absorbed some of the token, so vigilant studies and tests are at hand to make sure the situation does not get out of hand. Now, if only I can get the press out of my hair, taking care of this dilemma shouldn't be too hard.

It isn't the first time toxicant was exposed to the outside world, but not correlated with an unexplained explosion.

However, the two surviving turtles were identified as Raphael and Michelangelo, and had been rescued in time by Ananda and Silver Sentry. If they had remained in the location of the explosion for a few more minutes, they would have suffocated from the fumes.

They were moved to the intensive care room in order to be supervised and monitored thoroughly for aftereffects. After all, being exposed to the radioactive toxic is not something to shrug about, it is a very sensitive and delicate cycle of- how shall I put it: Death, or rebirth. And for that, I'm curious to how they even got there to begin with; or better yet, if the toxic waste had affected them in the least.

It was not compassion, or concern that led me to care for their welfare, but the curiosity of the outcome a mutant being would have with toxin. I was interested to see if their mutated genes would either reject the contamination and slowly kill them, like it usually would to normal humans, or accept it and change them-- just as the outbreak virus changed Donatello into that dino-like creature a few months back.

Unfortunately, after investigating the sight of the explosion and backtracking for any solid prove that Malignus had perished, it seemed he had escaped before the explosion happened, and yet pretty much whipped all his men who were aboard the truck.

Also, I've discovered that the rest of the turtle clan had all perished, Raphael and Michelangelo are the sole survivors, or Raphael is, anyway; Michelangelo had obviously seen better days.

To my disappointment, Leatherhead, who seemingly did not join them during this trip, for no trace of his existence within the trailer was found, means he is still out there somewhere. Though I rather have him as a test subject, I know he would do anything for his turtle friends, so I will need to contact him somehow and let him know of their- to put it nicely, their tragic demise.

And for once, he cant pin the blame on me, either.

No matter; their brother, Leonardo and that wretched rodent of a father of theirs, were found– or what was left of them, scattered and slowly decomposing in the bottom of the ooze pool. Limbs and fluids splattered and scattered to pieces at the scene of the accident. The men employed to pick up the remains gathered up to seventy percent of what they could of the mutant's appendages and inner organs.

Hopefully, I will be able to restore them as androids of sorts, seeing their craniums, though bruised, are still in a restorable state. They might suffer slight or sever brain trauma, depending on the seriousness of their injuries, and I may not be able to salvage their entire memory-span, but at least it would be reconstructed and restored, just as I have done to Baxter time after time.

I know they won't appreciate it, 'leave the dead as they should be,' I was once told.

But to do that, would be to put the end of my own life, would it not?

I am fortunate to say that Donatello's severed and cracked head contained his brain, unharmed and still in one piece. His skull was cracked and fluids were leaking, but his brain was in a fine condition, it would require less effort to restore it than Leonardo and the rat. As soon as the preparations are complete, I will try to revive him the same way I revived Stockman after his mishap at the east river a few months back.

But I do pray Donatello won't have an ego or a mouth as irritating as Baxter.

Of course, first I have to grant him a bionic body, and knowing Donatello, he may not appreciate me reviving him in that matter.

Not that I care. Like Baxter, all I want is his brain, which is in fact, all he actually is.

The two humans, April O'Neil and Casey Jones, could not be restored. Their skin was burnt due to the toxic waste, as when the explosion occurred, the flames had cremated them to crust. Their organs were no longer recognizable or retrievable. Unlike the turtles' mutated bodies, their frail human build could not withstand the deadly chemicals and were scorched to nothing at the touch.

Speaking of which, Raphael's skin had become a shade darker due to his misfortunate dip into the toxin. From what Sentry told me, it seemed the turtle had even swallowed some of it. Michelangelo had attained severe burns to his lower half, almost peeling off the skin and is gradually smelting the bones. The upper part of his body had managed to avoid the chemical, but still his legs are in a very bad shape as the infection he received seems to crawl across his undamaged skin, an infection growing like cancer, it is slowly devouring him whole.

And yet, their vitals show that they're developing some sort of healing statistics. To put it simply, they're healing. It is slow and painful, yet nevertheless, they're actually healing.

They have both been placed in the intensive care room, a secluded section of this base, suitable to the fact that they have been contaminated by the radioactive chemicals. They are being watched over by Sentry. I don't know why he feels obliged to care for them, and I never cared to ask. He seemed highly concerned for Michelangelo, and showed the same concern for Raphael. He feared that the cracks and slits on their skin were not healing as they should, but other than that, he and Ananda said nothing about the turtles condition to me.

Now, watching them through the observation glass window, Sentry is seated next to Michelangelo's bed. The temperamental turtle and his brother were still unconscious, surviving for now merely by the help of life support systems installed into advanced machineries. They have yet to show any sign of consciousness, although Michelangelo did stir an hour ago, he was yet to rise.

To be honest, I was more interested in Raphael.

I'm surprised he had fallen into the chemical-- even swallowed some-- and managed to walk out of it in one piece, while Michelangelo suffered nasty burns where he had touched it. It did not make sense. The younger turtle had apparently suffered worse injuries, though he had barely come in contact with the same amount of chemical, his older kin had, so why is it Raphael, who was doused head to toe with the substance, has a better chance or survival?

There must be a reason, and I intend to find out.

Whatever chemicals Raphael had swallowed were previously extracted as much as possible, however, tests showed that some still remained inside him and can not be removed, or else it would endanger his health. For some odd reason, the chemical had mixed with his stomach acids and formed small crystallized bits on the walls of his stomach.

Pulled out of my thoughts, the bionic skeleton of Baxter Stockman stood besides me, softly flickering with the holographic and ghostly image of his former, human self. Quietly, he glanced at the two mutant beings, bedridden and unconscious. Sentry sat beside Michelangelo's bed; a gloved hand gently stroked the turtle's bald head.

I felt tightness between my brows. I'm suspecting the superhero knows them through previous interactions, but had never spoken of them to me. It's possible, since I do not monitor his privet life, I'm guessing he must have come across one of them, if not all as some point. It would explain why he had begged to spare them, when we discovered they were intoxicated, instead of giving out the merciful kill command.

I allowed them to live instead of being dissected for studies, only to pledge they won't cause any trouble later. I assured him. If they caused any trouble, they were as good as dead, and he agreed.

We remained in silence, Baxter and I; if you could call the very faint humming sounding from inside Baxter's bionic mechanism silent. We stared through the protective glass into the room. We did not want to take any chances of getting infected, by whatever radiation the two turtles had been stained with. Sentry is still in there, wearing the protective suit and caressing Michelangelo's head, so there is no worry of him getting infected at the moment.

"You know, I'm surprised." Baxter finally spoke, voice sincere and honest with curiosity, then he slowly turned to face me with his lone, bionic eye, "I thought that you'd hate them enough to gut them wide open, given the chance."

I fought a smirk that threatened to curl at the corner of my mouth, and kept my gaze focused on Michelangelo, "I was tempted, but I do believe they offer better use alive, for now."

"For now?" He asked and stared at me for a moment, then chuckled, "Yes, of course; for now." He turned back to the glass window, quiet. He spoke again after a pause, but did not face me, "The preparations for Donatello's resurrection is complete." He practically spat the turtle's name dryly, "I don't see the point of it, though; seeing I still think he's inferior to my genius." He added.

I fought the urge to strike his head for his arrogance, my headache and suppressed anger at the day's failure burned like bitter medicine down my throat, but remembered it was pointless and a lost effort either way, because he won't feel it.

"I believe Donatello's mind would be very helpful, Stockman. He might be inferior to yours, but I assure you, he's younger and more experienced than you think." I then smirked openly, "Besides, wouldn't it be a relief to see someone else in a position like yours?"

Whether he was smiling in delight or glaring in seething anger and hatred, I could not see it. He didn't say anything, he merely turned to the glass window, so I assumed he was too angry to answer, or was too busy contemplating the image.

"His brute of a brother may not agree with you, Agent Bishop." He admitted in a warning tone, "I know him. He's aggressive and won't spare a second to tear us limb from limb, when he finds out what you're about to do to his- dead brother."

"Why, whatever do you mean, Stockman?" I said smugly, sparing him a glance which he retuned rather startled. "As far as we know, Raphael and Michelangelo are the lone survivors. The others perished in the explosion. We won't mention Donatello, not unless we have to, but we wont say he died, either." I shrugged a shoulder, non to caring, "Also, it depends if they ever wake up, for that matter."

"I see." Was his curt reply, "And I thought **I** was the madman…" he then muttered, more to himself than to me.

I pretended not to hear him, and spoke once more, "Raphael has always been the emotional one." I commented, and before I could even finish my thought, he jerked at me, interrupting.

"Raphael? Emotional?" Baxter made a sound that almost resembled a snort of laughter, "That I have got to see!" he chuckled.

I then stood there, watching as Ananda entered the intensive care room through a nearby back-door, dressed in her protective suit, of course. She walking past Raphael's bed and placed a hand on Sentry's shoulder. She was either asking him to leave, or was telling him something, for I recall she had been in the laboratory earlier, so she might had found something.

But they both didn't do anything, they didn't leave or seem to acknowledge each other's presence for a moment. She glanced at me, or more at the reflective window; inside the unit they and the turtles are in, they don't see us, but we see them. The corridors out here aren't lit so it's dark, the unit room is brightly lit and we can see them quite clearly.

No matter, I'll figure out what those two are up to later, right now I have bigger fish to fry.

"Once Raphael realizes all his loved ones are gone, he would be too grief stricken to notice or care about anything else." I informed and stroked my chin, "Then, if there is no chance for him or Michelangelo, I could use them as androids as well."

He stood silent a moment longer, "Perhaps." He somewhat mumbled, unimpressed, but said nothing more.

"You'd be surprised with their abilities, Stockman." I said with a smile, though giving the hint of a warning, "You must understand that his temper and rage is what keeps him going. If his flame is extinguished, he'd be just as dead as they are." I paused, thinking of a way to explain it, "Raphael without his raging passion is like you without the smarts."

He stared at me through his bionic eye and muttered, "… reduced to nothing." He said, a statement, not a question.

"Exactly." I smiled smugly.

As if on cue, Raphael stirred. Ananda and Sentry seemed to jump at the motion.

I could see his fingers and hands move and twitch, his head toss from side to side as if fighting a terrible dream. Ananda abandoned Sentry's side and hurried to the mutant, placing a securely gloved hand on his head, caressing gently.

The turtle winced as if in pain at her gentle touch, and continued to squirm and somewhat thrash. He raised his chin and moved his jaw, talking to her, perhaps? I could not tell, the glass is sound proof and the speakers, at the moment, seem to be conveniently turned off. I could not hear what he was saying, or catch his lips movements with his teeth grit in pain.

After a moment, he stilled again from sheer exhaustion, though a very uncomfortable expression wrinkled his face before he blanked out again. Oddly enough, Ananda merely stood besides his bed, gently she continued to brush his temple, and only when she was sure he was out cold, she said something to Sentry before she glanced my way, a light frown knit her brows. She kept looking my way, before she stroked Raphael's head once more, and then exited the room through the backdoors once more.

Hmm, I believe we might need to strap Raphael down, Michelangelo as well if needs be. I don't want them hurting themselves if the infection physically hurts too much.

A strange prickly feeling started on the back of my neck, and the hairs in the back of my neck rose.

This is the second time Sentry and Ananda are involved with the turtles, where a conversation took place and the speakers or communicators were conveniently disabled. I didn't like it, but took it as a warning. If it happens a third time, I will know something is up and I will confront them! I am their agents and they will not keep secrets from me.

Something is about to happen, I can feel it in my bones.

**. o 0 o 0 o .**

It had been thirty two hours since the accident. Raphael and Michelangelo were yet to wake up.

They would stir and regain consciousness, but not for long.

Their vital signs show they are suffering some sort of secondary mutation, but physically they seem the same. Some of the doctors wanted blood and skin samples, but I decided to wait until the turtles were in a more settled physical state before extracting samples. At least that way, we'd have more solid material to work with than shape shifting samples.

Donatello, on the other hand, is a whole other story.

After Ananda left the intensive care room earlier, she had taken off elsewhere and I could not trace her whereabouts. I wanted to question her conversation and what Raphael might have said, but she was nowhere to be found, and Sentry somewhat refused to leave the room, not until he was sure Michelangelo was in a stable condition.

I suspected that she had gone off to the lab to check on the test results, but I was mistaken. The doctors and scientists there explained that she asked for a full report about the toxin and what I contained exactly, and to compare it with the blood and skin samples extracted from the human and turtle remains found at the site of the accident.

Also, I was later informed that she had left the building without informing anyone of her destination. I could not locate her whereabouts, nor would she reply to her calls--she deliberately ignored me! It was not helping my irritation any.

I successfully located her via satellite, though; thanks to the chip I had ordered to be installed in her domed skull, and realized that she had gone back to the site of the explosion-- still freshly contaminated with the reinforced dome preventing it from spreading. She was inside, so perhaps she had faked or lied about having the privileges of access into the dome; I'll have to settle that skiff with her later. But to be honest, I really do wonder what she was doing; she almost seemed to be looking for something.

No matter, when my cell phone gave a single ring, I knew everything was ready. I have more important things to do than worry what that girl is up to. She'll need to work a little harder if she wants to keep things a secret from John Bishop. Promptly, I exited my office and headed into the nursing section. I stood before a bionic skeleton.

Or, to be more accurate, the new body of Donatello.

The path from my office, out of the main building and into the revamped Soldiers chamber took about fifteen minutes. When I arrived at the 'Frankenstein' room, as one of our new recruits tends to call it, they have yet to throw the switch and start the machines. Baxter stood close by in an unusual and eerie silence, watching the monitor and vital screen blankly, flicking switches and cranking the dials so the charts before him aligned to his liking.

It was time to start. After setting the cords and wires into position, connecting the bionical body and the machineries surrounding the table it lay on, not wanting to take any chances of frying the young turtle's brain by mistake, I stood near the activation panel.

Once ready, I glanced at the two doctors who shared the room, both nervous and excited about taking part in this ultimate creation.

I really need to talk about Baxter's choice in looking for inexperienced younglings, just so he could gloat about his 'awsomeness' before them; this is about diligence and hard work, not self promoting plugs!

I shook my head and kept watching as one of them connected the jar-like globe, which obtained Donatello's cranium and connected it to the bionic skeleton's head via delicate wires. After securing the hatchet, they stood back. Bracing the thickening silence, as the doctors and Stockman stepped away from the table, he looked at me for approval, and I stared at the mechanical figure, then nodded.

He hit the switch and watched, the loud whirring of the machine accompanied by thundering sparks of miniature lightening, blue and white sparks lit the small room, fluorescent and bright. It looked just like that time when I had revived Stockman after his mishap in the east river, except that somehow, this time, the room lit so bright- as if walking into the light, it felt rather- foreboding.

A moment passed, the light died, the sparks came to a halt, and there was deafening silence once more.

A whole minute passed and the skeleton did not move, and just as I was about to tell Stockman to check everything is in order this time, before reactivate it again, the fingers twitched. There was a low exhausted groan, the bionic hand twitched again, and the head tossed from side to side as if fighting a nightmare. The bionic eyes blinked, once, twice, and then the head shifted, the hallow voice of Donatello spoke.

"Ow, what hit me?" He groaned and attempted to move an arm, only to discover it was restrained, "Uh- huh?" he said wearily as Stockman and the two doctors un-strapped his arms. He gingerly, if not hesitantly at the sight of the African-American hologram, pushed himself sitting up on the table, gazed at the two sticks for legs… and froze, he stared down as his body; or lack of.

And just as I expected, it came. A labored panting, gasping breath that sounded almost like a child whimpering.

"Wh- what? What's happened to me? This is- Where- I'm- Oh God!" He almost screamed, his hands rattled while touching about the cords and joints, "I- this- this can't be!" he breathlessly gasped; or as breathlessly as it can be to someone who no longer needs to breathe.

"Welcome to my world." Stockman muttered dryly; more to himself than to Donatello.

But to be brutally honest, if I didn't know any better, I'd say there was a hint of sympathy in his voice.

When Donatello turned to face us, the doctors have already un-strapped his legs. He kept staring at me for a moment, and I knew if he still had his face, he would have been trying to burn holes through my head with his gaze alone. He staggered forewords, before tripping over his own feet, falling to the floor with a loud thud and clank.

He gave a small yelp, but I'm sure it was not in pain; force of habit for having a physical body, I believe.

Fortunately, the containment cell which protects his brain, is made of various glass and alien material. It's as solid and as clear as crystal, nothing can cut, crack or go through it, therefore it protects him.

He lay on the floor, slowly pulling his arms and legs together, curling into a ball and hugging himself, in spite of his sticks-for limbs. I could hear whimpering-- a noise that sounded like sobbing.

If I didn't know any better and if he had a face, I would say he was crying.

Dismissing the doctors for now, their job now done and no longer needed, Stockman lingered by for brief a moment. I could tell he wanted to stay, but chose to leave; probably sympathizing with the partly-dead turtle.

Once Donatello and I were alone, I stood by the control panel, watching the artificial body shake and shiver as if it were alive. The alien technology installed within the bionic body, responds to the brainwaves in the same manner a physical body responds to thoughts. I stood there with my arms folded behind my back, silence thickening once more.

Approximately half an hour had passed before he calmed down and stopped his sobs. Half an hour I just stood there in the room with him, watching. He lay like a rag-doll on the floor, lifeless. However, the bubbles in his brain-chamber were a clear sign he was still functioning as it should, so I just continued to stand there, waiting.

"What happened?" He asked, no longer a whimper, but still soft and low, frightened. "I'm- I was sure I was dead." He shifted his head up, looking at me through blue-colored bionic eyes.

"You _were_ dead." I answered, keeping my face stoic and blank, "I simply revived you."

"Why?" He weakly protested, a clear complaint and distaste with my choice, "Why did you bring me back?" If he had the strength, he would have bolted up to his feet to strangle me, "I was dead! Don't you know that you're not supposed to bring back the dead?" He nearly shrieked.

I didn't even flinch, "I found your brain just too important, so I decided to keep it." I replied blankly.

In a burst of anger and sudden strength, his limbs rattled slightly as he pushed off the floor. Shakily and weakly with his trembling shins, he took baby-like steps towards me. His fingers curling, clenching and unclenching; the sound of heavy breathing could be heard, like a mad growl of sorts, but I knew it could not be, it was probably the voice box mimicking the emotional charts into his voice.

Also, the noised of sheer anger sounded like something Raphael would make. It was ironic.

"You!" He hissed bitterly, "You- !!"

Donatello moved his weak, skinny sticks for arms at my throat. He was moving with such a heavy, slow pace, it was like watching him move in slow motion. He couldn't even get his fingers to make contact with me before he tripped on his own feet again. Delayed reflexes caused him to bump his head to my stomach. His arms flailed out, trying to grasp something to stop his fall.

Oddly, my arms unwillingly shot out, catching his hands, merely because he latched onto me.

He broke into a tired, crushed sob as his legs collapsed to his knees in defeat, his fingers twitching weakly against my grasp. With a growl I tore his hands off me and watched him crumble to the floor in a cluttering heap. Adjusting my now tugged clothes, I stared at the creature before me, half disgusted at the whimpering heap of what was once a genius, and wondering if this would put a rock in my path.

A sense of paranoia tickled me but it didn't make any sense.

Donatello's revival is for a better cause of figuring out what had happened to his brothers, and cure the toxin infection in the domes site.

If it is all for the better of humanity, why did it not make any sense at all?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Chapter edited and reposted, constructive critique is welcome.


	3. Beginnings

Chapter Three:

-------------

Donatello, for the next three days remained as silent as still as stone.

Curled up in the corner of his holding cell, he just hugged his knees and solemnly sat there.

Raphael and Michelangelo were yet to rise from their stupor, aside the usual stirring and momentary consciousness.

Although I think they are about to awake it my just be a hunch, but not necessarily the truth. I've been wrong before, so I know better than to keep my predictions on high standards.

Raphael's symptoms appeared to be recovering faster than his brother. His inner organs seem to develop due to the chemicals he had swallowed, and his bones and shall seem to be growing thicker and heavier as well. His blood samples were uniquely- strange, to say the least. It was the same yet different, as a new substance of sorts had instilled itself into his system.

It looked just like human blood, and their original blood prior the mutation, but it was still not the same. I could tell, because I had them compared with old charts from the time I took their samples. I know it was months ago, but they're still dependable and the results should come out any day now. Either way, I suspected it had something to do with the chemicals he had unintentionally swallowed on the day of the accident.

Although the lab team had required more than enough samples from the turtles, alive or the dead, they have tested them thoroughly, they were yet to figure out just what was in store for those two mutants from it, aside the obvious changed in their genetic structure. They were yet to get any life threatening sighs or negative aftereffects from the alien substance as well.

So far, aside the obvious physical injuries they've obtained, everything was the same.

In fact, it seemed their bodies were adapting to the change.

Raphael and Michelangelo's chance of survival looked very slim at first, but now their bodies are adapting to the changes and their vital signs look encouraging, but not really by all that much. If they did not wake up soon, or if their vitals don't improve faster through the next week, I might just get forced to put them out of their misery, but even then I'll be sure to make use of them, one way or another.

Curious to their current state, however, I wondered if Malignus had done something to the chemical prior the explosion, which caused them to lapse into such a coma-like state. The complete result of the toxin and what it had contained is still being researched, for some chemicals there were identified turned out to be broadly used in houses, hospitals and general cleaning materials. It's not even clear if they were illegal or not, therefore we can't even backtrack to figure out where he got them from.

Also, it's not normal for the two turtles to drift on and off like this. That toxic should have instantly killed them, if only by simply inhaling the rank smell it carried. The fumes could knock an elephant dead right off its feet with one whiff, so how was it that they only got knocked out, with a clear percentage of poison in their bloodstream, that yet doesn't seem to harm them at all?

But instead, the substance worked more as if it had merely drugged them with a sleeping potion. There must be something causing their sleeping state, holding them back from the real world and stopping them from waking up. Their body temperature seems above hibernation level, not even close, it's almost near the normal human temperature of thirty seven Celsius.

Raphael is fighting it and had stirred more often than not the past few days, but clearly he doesn't have the stamina to stay awake for very long. After all, I know from my research that he is the fierce fighter in the family, and physical strength is his strong point, while Michelangelo, though he has more stamina compared to Raphael, he is less opted to use it efficiently and it is often released through other activities.

But back to the chemicals; if could figure out what was added to the toxin, I might be able to wake them up, merely because I am interested to see how long they would live with the substance in their blood. If it was to be any other scenario, I'd dissect them here and now if I could, but I need them alive in case some civilians were infected or affected by any radiation.

They may not be human, but their mutated bodies are special, and there is a pretty good chance the cure would start from them. Therefore, to figure out what had been added to the toxin, and then create a cure would be a feat in itself, I need to keep them alive.

Unfortunately, all signs showed that the nut-job, Malignus, was not at the scene when the explosion accrued. He is still alive and is out there somewhere, and since he was the one to steal the truck with the chemicals, then he must be the one who toyed with it before it exploded. But where he could be right now is anyone's guess; manipulating even more idiotic fools to do his bidding, no doubt.

We still hadn't even figured out how the truck exploded to begin with. No sign of heat or explosive materials were present at the site, so it is all a mystery.

Perhaps when Sentry and Ananda are done caretaking the two turtles, if not sooner, I'll send them off to backtrack and locate the needed information regarding this matter. I could send someone else, of course, but I would rather send those two because they were the ones related to this mission. Besides, Sentry and Ananda had personally requested that whenever Malignus is involved, they'd want a piece of it.

Nobody had been out of reach, and Tsunami had been on a mission to Japan for some undercover mission. He and Chrysalis need to make sure everything goes as planned, or else my investigations involving Mr. Saki's beloved daughter will all be for naught. 

That cat had been quiet; too quiet. And if I know her father, she's up to something.

Hun is easy enough to predict, but she's a whole different ball game.

I could try and track Nobody or Raptor, but it was a part of the alliance that I never ask them of their home location, past or their true identity outside their so called hero-mode hours. They agree to be a part of the Justice Force, in condition that I don't meddle or seek them out in their private life, or expose who they really are to the world.

I may not be able to press on them if needs be, but I do have Raphael and Michelangelo now. Raphael might be of some help to track Malignus, if he could muster up the strength. Assuming the reptile would survive that long, anyway.

With a frustrated sigh, I wondered if I could provide more help looking for that madman, without drawing unwanted attention.

Distracted from the monitor as I paused to think about what I was about to type, I started thinking about the dead turtle and rat. It is true, Leonardo and Splinter's craniums were salvageable, but at the scene of the explosion, the turtle and rat's bodies have suffered the worse injuries.

From my findings, I estimate that they were in the front line when the tank blew up, followed by Donatello while leaving Raphael and Michelangelo somewhere in the back.

The explosion had been so powerful it did more than just bruise their craniums. It blasted their heads off their shoulders and destroyed the rest of their body. The turtle and rat were damaged nearly to a state beyond repair. I'm afraid they are to some extent pretty useless even to me, unless I could extract the memories and somehow install them into androids, or maybe in the data base for later use.

Maybe even in the current beta version of my new enhanced slayers?

Yes, Leonardo and Splinter's ninjutsu skills would be most useful if I manage to extract it, probably with the help of the alien technology in my possession. They could be used to enhance the skill of my slayers, maybe even practice androids, to develop their fighting technique and strengthen their edge. The only thing I need to be careful with is transporting any personal memories.

With any sentimental memories, their conscious might overtake their robotic body, much like Donatello's current state, and they might go haywire or maybe even insane and attack.

I'd hate to have to tear them up or take them apart, if they had too many emotional or private memories lingering within their new bodies.

Where I pushed my back away from the leather seat's backrest, my hands and fingers flew over the keyboard once more as I continued to type in the tail end of the blasted report. I need to stop getting distracted and get the damn thing done, and then maybe get some decent sleep! I'm so sleep deprived and cranky, I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired and cranky.

Malignus might have escaped, like a thorn digging deeper into my side, but he won't stay that way for long.

It took me a while to gather the newfound bits and pieces of information from the explosion scene, added with the pictures gathered via satellite, fitting them together like obscure pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, and I even went as far as searching the area's geographic history, for any possible reason Malignus would even consider blowing a tank of poisonous chemical in.

In a way, it helped stage the development of this mission and follow its every step, from the location of where the truck first appeared, its path and speed down the road and up until the explosion site.

My finale conclusion: I do believe Malignus had not meant to blow up the truck, for it was too far away from the nearest town, and there was just no clear reason for him to blow it up, either way. There was simply nothing there.

But of course the turtles were by no means a part of his plans, obviously.

But then again, they _are_ meddling fools and he might have known they were there.

I do believe the truck, and the trailer that contained those turtles before their tragic misfortune, had little similarities in appearance to the truck we were searching for. The truck was blocking the road and going a but over the speed limit, Mr. Jones who was driving wanted to drive past it, but the driver being hardheaded wouldn't let him pass, so angry the vigilante tried to rush his way around before the truck blocked the path.

At the time, the explosion occurred, why it had happened is still unclear.

I guess we'll never really know, not unless from Malignus himself.

After calculating the casualties and whatnot, I realized the damage done compared to the actual amount of toxin missing was too little, which means Malignus had probably divided the shipment into two, if not three, more portions before he took off towards the city.

I'm very sure there was supposed to be another truck, from the explosion site was about forty five percent of the actual toxic, therefore there is more than another thirty to thirty five percent scattered around the forest, which leaves about a good ten to fifteen present still out there somewhere. That also means there is still a risk of another explosion, and I need to move my forces fast to locate the rest of the shipments and acquire them, before that nut-job blows them up as well.

The truck, assumingly, was to be blown up a distance past at the second check point, near a town that was just up ahead. I believe, half way across where my men had caught sight of him. It appeared his men had panicked and tried to withdraw off the road, around the time Mr. Jones tried to pass them, or so Malignus wanted us to think, for how did his men find their way to the hidden squad of insects waiting for them?

For the life of me, I can't figure out how he knew where the squad was hidden. I instructed them to stay out of sight, but perhaps the nutjob spotted them somehow. Again, I wouldn't be surprised if it were his bugs, the little things would fit anywhere unseen. The transmitter devices should have picked up their signal, though, unless Malignus had somehow enhanced them to be untraceable.

Still, Malignus managed to escape the truck in the heat of the chase, probably a mere moment before the collusion with the Turtle's ride, leaving his brainwashed lackeys behind to their demise.

In theory from what I guess had happened: They drove on ahead, and I'm guessing they came face to face with the car and trailer, that contained the turtles and their human friends. They drove off the road, Mr. Jones ended up hitting a tree and the explosion was the result of the collision. The tank slammed into the car that pulled the trailer, it crashed the Chevy enough to cause a leak somehow, and with the ignited flames from their engine, the heat added to the flammable substance of the toxic, the explosion was simply unavoidable.

The turtles must've been trapped inside the trailer during the crash, unknowingly sealed inside to face their gruesome fate. Their human friends, who were up front and inside the car at the time, were killed instantly at the accident. It would explain the scattered human limbs and ashes we found at the scene.

Ironic, isn't it? After all those battles of trying to kill, capture or dissect them they keep escaping, and now that I didn't even know they were there, they meet a truly tragic death by the hands of fate.

Such as Karma? I highly doubt it.

Looking across the photos taken by satellite again, the scattered limbs and body fluid locations where they split across the scene and whatnot, Leonardo must've been at the front of the trailer, the spot closest to where the back of the car was connected to the front of the trailer, because there wasn't much left of him after the explosion.

All was ever found of Leonardo as a whole piece was his right hand, up about an inch or two past the broken wrist bone, the tattered piece of wristband that encircled his wrist was marred in blood, and his clinched fist held his bloodied sword in a tight, deathly grip where it was pinned to a nearby tree. The rest of him was all fluids, sloshed like a tipped bucket of water to the hot cement floor in a sick shade of dark brown.

The turtle probably thought they were under attack and unsheathed his swords, about ready to jump out to protect his family from whatever it was outside. The truck and car hit each other, after the assumption of Mr. Jones hitting a tree, and shook the trailer violently, cracked the tank containing the toxin, then the explosion came too fast from behind.

The rat was found in a few thicker chunks distance any from the others, along with that blasted cane and patches of his tattered robe were all what remained. I believe Leonardo took the worst hit being the closest to its source, followed by his father close behind. Leonardo's body had unknowingly shielded the rat, but yet even in the face of death it was not enough to spare the old sage.

I'm not sure where that positions the others, location wise, but I figure Donatello or Raphael must've been in the middle of the trailer, and Michelangelo was way at the back near the doors, it would explain why he was the least injured. Unless he and Raphael were at close proximity near the rear end of the trailer, it would explain that they were the first to hit the chemical once exiting the truck, whereas Donatello had his head lobbed off and cracked.

Once the collusion accrued between the two vehicles and before the actual explosion, Raphael must've tried to exit the trailer and fell into the ooze first, and Michelangelo followed into the toxic waste. Or perhaps Michelangelo exit first, fell half way into the toxic and Raphael jumped in to get him out, only to drown into the pit? The chemical is thick and sticky as the tests had shown, but not quite soft enough to suck them in like quicksand, so I really can't tell why Michelangelo was infected only half way, while Raphael was dosed in whole.

Both scenarios are possible, yet nothing can be confirmed until they're awake and conscious to tell me what exactly happened. But then again, given who I am, I doubt they'd be cooperative with indulging me to the events that passed, anyway.

Tired of thinking and now with a growing headache, I pushed off the chair and exit the office. I believe a good long walk would help me sort through my thoughts and clear my mind; everything had been so muddled and the lack of a restful sleep isn't helping.

Alas, there had been many things going on aside the stolen truck; prior the accident but somewhat correlated.

From the road between Northampton and New York, many cases of subtle mutation had been present, and then reported by many people, in some newcomers in the reported areas.

After some digging in the records of the people mentioned, as hard as it was since some were reported to have been dead for a few years, or were missing with no clue to their whereabouts, I came to realize they were previous test subjects of that underground unit Oroku Saki had had, but upon investigating it, the place was pretty demolished to nothing.

I've had a squad go in and check the place, but all the records were unsalvageable and only the survivors can tell us what had happened there. We did manage to retrieve crystals and the chamber, connected to a humongous cavern underground, which later revealed a huge lava pit and what seemed to be the basic structure of what appeared to be some sort of city; yet there was no city to be found.

The only person we could apprehend, for the rest kept escaping or receiving aid to flee my men, was a girl named Sydney.

She had been reported to have weird tantrums that are opposite to her nature, with her hair suddenly changing color and her saliva melting steel like acids. She used to work in a restaurant like any normal person, but later developed the anger issues, with much pressure piling on her she became unstable and had to run and hide away as the police began to chase her.

After three months of search we managed to capture her, her friend with the razor firsts tried to help her, but she fought him off and forced him to run, or so my men reported, so she was apprehended alone. Irritatingly enough, she is uncooperative to indulge us about her past, how it came to be that she was somewhat mutated with evident chemicals in her bloodstream, and how she had managed to flee that demolished underground city to begin with.

By this point, I finally made my way across the base's asylum section for the hopelessly lost projects, went up the stairs towards the padded holding cells lounge, and peered into the glass window of a certain chamber.

Donatello was busy with his new body, he fingered his new hands and felt about the wires, cords and human-like fibers used to construct it.

The skeleton is quite brittle but can be customized to add on a stronger frame, like a module of sorts. If Donatello gained access to the right pieces, he could very well turn himself into a battle suit and blow this base sky high, and that is why he is under supervision, to make sure he doesn't hurt himself and that he's mentally stable, before allowing him to customize his new body.

Stockman had surprisingly questioned the turtle's sanity. He expressed that being dissected by the Shredder, bit by bit, was not like being hit full force with the change, so he figured Donatello may not revert back to his old self, and now he is more a madman that the two of us.

I hate to admit it, but he had a point and I fully acknowledge that possibility. I do hope I did not damage the turtle's fragile mind with the shocking change, because I need his smarts for many tasks, and among them is to help locate Malignus. Then, maybe, if he had recovered well enough, I will inform him of Raphael and Michelangelo and see how they're coping, and if he knows to how to help them.

Donatello would most likely try to rid himself and end his life, not wanting to remain in this ageless body, seeing he's in such a hapless state of mind. Still, he can't harm himself, not with his current de-modified body. The bionic skeleton's physical build is weak when it comes to fighting physically, and the glass-dome that protects his cranium, is of the latest development of protective glass. The wires are made of strong fibers even scissors cant cut through, so yanking them will not rip them out of their socket.

He won't be able to scratch it, much less crack it, no matter how hard he'd bash it against the walls; hence why he's in a padded room right now.

He had become so violent we had to restrain him. If he had lashed out at us again we might have to bind him with a suit, but he apparently understood that and decided to behave. If I know him well, he's probably bidding his time to jump us, so we will have to figure out a way to dull him or get him on our side before allowing him his previous freedom.

Right now, the most important part of his new body is the dome. It was specifically created out of the various materials from different alien technologies, replaceable and durable with easy maintenance, but also as solid as crystal and nothing on this planet could crack it, not even rifle bullets.

I should know, because I had the thing tested with heavy artillery.

Ironically, its only weakness lies in acids, especially ones that are rich with ethanol like alcoholic drinks, for it is the only earthly liquid that would melt the diamond solid armor in mere seconds, if accompanied with the right temperature. If it's hot enough, it ought to slowly scorch a gap in the dome, if too hot it will burn a hole right through it!

Still, thinking back about the number of freaks I've obtained thanks to this accident, I wondered if it would be wise to tell Donatello of Raphael and Michelangelo's conditions, especially in his fragile state of mind.

Leonardo as well as his father might be dead for now, their new android modules had not been completed yet, and their brains are still being disassembled into binary codes for the new modules to accept installing them in an understandable robotic language.

Raphael and Michelangelo are still present, in the physical sense, anyway. I could tell him and he will help them regain consciousness, but would he still be able to face them being in the state he is now? Would he be able to face them at all? Would they accept that he is their brother, or would the shock and rejection fracture their broken souls even deeper?

Why do I even care? Or am I just that curious? Such morbid curiosity.

Raphael would most definitely scream bloody murder and blame me for this, one way or another for the misfortune of his brother. As for Michelangelo, I expect that he will be deeply scarred, more so mentally than physically and would either bounce back to his old self, or forever be a whimpering shadow of what he used to be. Something this tragic is bound to break them mentally and spiritually, so I highly doubt they'd even be able to get back to how they used to be, especially with Leonardo and the rat both being dead.

Also, they may not think straight after they wakes up, and if my estimations are correct, they both will be in an emotional mess if they were to discover Donatello's new state. Therefore, those two should not know of Donatello's state, nor he about theirs till they're all ready. Only then I will have to take the procedures to reintroduce them, and explain the situation so they won't blame me for this.

The explosion, I mean, not Donatello's new state. I do not regret that choice for I like to think they need him more than I do.

Michelangelo would constantly need his brother Raphael nearby, yet only time can tell how they will recover after this, if at all.

For now I will prepare for whatever may come, for I have much to do before I introduce Donatello back to his brothers once more.

I have much to accomplish, starting with Leonardo and Splinter.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: New chapter posted, I had this sitting on my hard drive for months, but for some reason never posted it. Constructive critique welcome.


	4. Dawning

Chapter Four:

------------

Another week had passed since the incident, and much had been revealed.

Through diligent research, we got a few answers regarding the toxin and what it had contained, and are currently working on backtracking any possible sources to limit their exact origin. The results involving the blood samples from the turtles are currently being thoroughly investigated, in order to connect the dots and cross out the incorrect theories, and come out with a solid answer to what is happening to them exactly.

But also, more unexplained oddities appeared, as even more questions were added to the ever growing list of obscurities. Raphael and Michelangelo are clearly suffering a second mutation, but its nature, good or bad, had yet to be complete revealed.

The report regarding the accident had been sent out, and an investigation team had been sent to the site of the explosion to farm as much information as possible. The press had been hopefully and permanently stopped from snooping around the site, in order to prevent infections or the people and wildlife surrounding it.

The area had been completely sealed off. A new path had been paved around it, so people following the main road would be able to get from New York to Northampton, while being as far away from the dome as possible, in order to reach their desired location. 

But then something new came up. A new human-like entity of sorts had been apprehended at the site. She was trying to sneak into the dome for some reason, but my men managed to capture her before she crossed the dome's gates. She refused to explain her reasons or need to go in there, and kept her lips sealed, therefore they sent her here to base to be questioned.

If I hadn't already been burdened by so much, I would have investigated the issue myself.

From her appearance and features, I'm inclined to confirm the person is an adult female, Y'Lantian Entity, goes by the name of Versallia, but why she had tried to go into the dome, while knowing the dangers of being at such close proximity to the poisonous fumes is beyond me. She refused to speak and give any answers. All we could confiscate from her was a rather huge, first-sized globed stone of sorts made of smoothed type of crystal.

Meanwhile, Donatello merely sulked and sat in the corner of the small, empty and well padded room.

Spending his solitude in deafening silence, he would jerk his arms every now and then, trying to move his arms and legs and perform some ninjutsu activities, but to no avail. His new body was too thin, too light, he kept spinning or back-flipping too fast and wring himself around, only to fall and hit the floor with a muffled clank. Frustrated and upset, and sometimes infuriated beyond reason, he would go into a tantrum and start hitting, kicking and punching the walls in a fit of anger, but it usually doesn't last for long as he later crumbles to the floor and just lay there, unmoving.

That was the third tantrum this week. His temperament keeps getting worse, denial and rejection to his new form had put him in an emotional torrent. His lack of faster improvement is rather frustrating, but at least he's not raving mad anymore.

In the first two weeks of his revival, he would get up and move around every now and then, but due to the fact that we were forced to disable his arms and tie them behind his spine, seeing there is no straightjacket that could confine his skinny figure, to stop him from trying to 'shut down' himself was avoided by mere coincidence.

It's hard to tell what emotion he is displaying at times, from between slamming his head against the walls and sneering and seething, howling like a mad dog, and when huddling into a skinny ball on the floor, whimpering and murmuring to himself. I don't know whether to be disgusted at the whimpering heap of what used to be a great ninja, or pity the crumbled man he had become.

'_Damn you, Bishop! God damn you to hell!_' he roared into the newly installed speakers once.

Usually such things don't bother me, but that one time it brought an uncomfortable prickle to my skin. It reminded me that no matter how I harden myself, I am still human with emotions that can get the better of me if I'm not careful. It doesn't help that the lack of proper sleep isn't helping, either. Ever since this whole dilemma started, I can't remember the last time I've had a long restful sleep.

These emotions, I love to hate them; they make me feel so human yet also feel like a beast.

I feel that they control me and limit my progress, that they drag me back and toss me to the pit of self-doubt and failure. But on other occasions, they function like a premonition, it's a gut feeling that usually tells me something will happen in the future, whether near or far but it's not for me to know yet. If you cloned yourself time and time again for years, that gut feeling just seems to develop overtime, if you know what I mean.

"You know, those two have healed quite a bit." Stockman mumbles almost as if in disbelief.

I tried not to jump in start when he appeared next to me, watching Donatello in his new body howl and attack the padded walls. "Stockman, I thought you were at the labs receiving the test results." I growled. I cursed myself; I was so distracted I didn't even hear him approach? I'm getting old…

"I was," He murmured. Cybernetic eyes fixed to the small window, seeing he was more robot looking than his holographic old form. Looking at Donatello as he collapsed onto the padded floor once again, he gave a small sigh, but I couldn't read what it represented. "Let me tell you, I never really expected it to be this- serious." He then added a bit solemnly.

"Which is?" I muttered as I rolled my neck a bit, wanting to stay awake but a knot in my spine refused to pop, it was getting uncomfortable.

"Michelangelo seems to be regaining consciousness faster than anticipated. Sentry reported that woke up and remained awake for more than ten minutes about an hour ago." He walked over to a panel near the door of Donatello's confinement room, tapped some buttons and paused as to allow the computer to process and save the information he inserted.

Small shafts opened as mechanical arms were revealed from the ceiling, a small whirr could be heard as they descended down upon the collapsed bionical skeleton, carefully hoisting him up into a standing position. Donatello did not move or struggle, though his head bobbed a bit in habit when feeling emotional exhausted. He had been through this before and knows better than to get hardheaded.

The arms will pull him into another room to place him within a capsule, and there we will monitor his body functions to make sure he is physically adapting to the cybernetic body. Some times the bionic limbs may start to apply static pressure upon his cyber-nerve system, which then push the static towards the brain chamber, and the more static pressure applied to his cranium, the more it will hurt and the more likely he'll try to end himself to stop the pain.

Also, we need to keep any stains off the parts of his system that need to stay clean, which might damage the brain dome overtime, so we need to vent out the static, thoroughly cleanse the dome and figure out a way to do it manually, or else it would make his brain fry or get an infection overtime, if he is overpowered in electrical charges, or if there is a leak in the dome and germs managed to get into the cranium chamber.

Also, one of the scientists brought up the subject of magnetic interference. Donatello's body might have been structured of various earthly and alien materials, yet he is somewhat vulnerable to the strong magnetic waves caused by high magnetic zones or devices.

"Also, the contamination unit had confirmed they're no longer radioactive." Stockman then added, returning my focus to Michelangelo and Raphael's condition, "For some strange reason, their bodies have absorbed the toxic waste and had forged itself with their mutated blood. Oddly enough where Raphael's shell and bones seem to be crystallizing and becoming harder, Michelangelo's particles are falling apart and becoming more liquefied." He mumbled a bit, and then stared as the arms pulled Donatello to the next room beyond our sight. "It's safe to be around them without the protective suits, they no longer reek of the toxin that strongly anymore, but I suggest caution and keep using the suits for another few weeks, anyway." He added.

Standing there, I inhaled slowly as the exo-suit had been put into sleep mode, and Donatello will not be able to move for a while, it'll allow his suit to recharge and keep his vitals sane. Not that the ex-turtle would need to sleep, not anymore, his body recharges gradually on its own so there is really no worry. But better safe than sorry, I guess.

Moments passed, before we both silently exit the lobby and heading towards where Raphael and Michelangelo had been moved to, for better treatment and closer inspection regarding their developing conditions.

After we have arrived, I decided to wait outside to watch them through the glass window separating me from the ones inside, while Baxter entered and glanced at the monitor screen showing Raphael's statue; it's control panel and screens poised and covered half the wall with charts and leavers whatnot. He flicked a switch and cranked a dial, causing Raphael's bed to quiver a bit before it rose a bit higher.

The turtle furrowed and rolled his head, stirred a bit at the shivering sensation shaking the bed, but otherwise did not wake up.

Baxter then approached the still sleeping turtle and inspected him, checking eye-dilation and then looked into the turtle's mouth. After that he pressed his fingers to Raphael's neck to check the pulse, and I glanced at the monitor screen to see the results.

Raphael's signs showed about forty degrees celsius regarding body heat, and a hundred and nine heartbeats per minute? Hmm, his temperature and heartbeats seem to be accelerating.

The monitor screens showed the vitals of the two unconscious turtles as they lay motionless in bed. From what I gather they're both getting better, aside the odd heartbeat and body temperature ratings going sky rocket at one point, and nearly stopping the next day, but perhaps the pain of their bodies re-mutating is too much for them, therefore the doctors were forced to sedate them till they were in a less pained, and more stable condition, to be cooperative when the physical activities and tests need to be run.

Michelangelo's control panel was at the other wall on the other side of the room.

Ironically enough his vitals signs seemed to go the exact opposite of Raphael's which I found frustratingly confusing. Whenever we try to compare the charts they're either on the same stage, or one of them suffers hyperthermia where the other gets hypothermia. Where Raphael gets high blood pressure and his body heats and sweats, Michelangelo practically goes ice cold and slips into hibernation.

Just then Silver Sentry entered the room and sat next to Michelangelo's bed again, while this time Ananda entered the room right after and sat next to Raphael's. There is only one entrance to this room, unlike the intensive care room from before, and I must really be getting old if they had managed to walk past me without me noticing!

For a long suspicious moment, they only glanced at each other with wary expressions, as if suddenly feeling very uncomfortable when they knew I was watching. This time they did not try to talk, not with Baxter in the room, and I believe he knew and did not leave even after he was done inspecting Raphael. Instead, he shooed them away and began on Michelangelo, though Ananda looked unimpressed. She and Sentry then remained by Raphael's side as Baxter reset the bed back in place.

I wondered what those two were up to; Ananda and Sentry. They've been keeping a close eye on those turtles and making sure Baxter or I are not alone with them for too long, it doesn't bode well. I started wondering if they were forming some sort of plan to get those turtles out of here, either because they feared I would dissect them without their knowledge, or because they were being idiots and thinking that since they no longer need protective suits, then they could smuggle them out or something.

Frankly, just for the safe side to prevent something that dumb from happening, I'll need to limit their movement and privileges around this section of base. After all, superheroes or not they still work under my control; I'm their agent and the commander of the Justice Force command center, after all. Besides, it's not like I'll do anything to the turtles, not now, anyway. I dislike having to rid of something when I could still make sure of it.

Stockman's fingers tapping over a keyboard in the small computer room, and its echoes bounced in the thick silence.

I could see Raphael and Michelangelo clearly from where I stood outside, and they were ironically sleeping peacefully like children.

I think monitoring Donatello's status through another screen is going to be necessary, but I'll have to move him in another room once he's sanity is no longer in question. I can't risk him discovering his brothers, nor them discovering his new state and ganging against me.

Then again, when I think back about it again and again, I believe it might be high time we let him know they're alive.

Who knows? He might be the one to truly be able to help them regain consciousness, and to tell us if they're suffering anything. He'll be able to cure it seeing he knows their body functions much better. To my knowledge, he is something like the family doctor in spite of being a ninja and a fighter, though from years of observation I know he is not the type to start a fight.

Little do those turtles realize I've known of their existence since day one! That lost canister of mutagen was a pain to find, and if my men weren't dolts and freaked the truck driver he wouldn't have nearly hit that man to begin with. They were simply asked to apprehend the driver and confiscate the load of 'illegal' canisters inside, was that so hard to follow?

I confess I was fascinated with Splinter when he took the baby turtles instead of eating them, but forgot all about him when the four began to develop and changed their home location. At the time, I didn't have the tracking bugs or devices made, and since they lived in the rat's burrow I didn't think he'd move out so soon. Their growing up days was lost to me, and I actually forgot all about them later on.

I only managed to track them again after Raphael's truck indecent about tow or three years ago, when they have been reintroduced to the Foot and he got trapped inside that truck. At the time he had just employed Baxter and I had spies within the Foot to keep an eye on Saki; I knew he was an alien I just had no way to prove it, and to my surprise Leonardo came into view later, as Saki wanted to recruit him into his line.

Naturally Leonardo refused and it went downhill for the turtles from there.

Alas, around that time, just as I narrowed down the area of where they might be hidden, Karai went and smashed their home, a Y'Lantian fortress of all things, and now I'm still looking in hope to find where they had gone to next. Perhaps when Raphael and Michelangelo awake, they'd be more inclined to let me know of their home location; I could use Leatherhead's aid in this issue and I'm sure he'd want to be here with his friends as well.

Although I doubt Leatherhead would believe me if I told him they're alive, and even if he did believe me, who's to say he'd even accept what had happened to them. I do believe Donatello had gone somewhat mad, and if he had truly gone mad or utterly insane and proved to be a threat, then I will have no other alternative but to remove him.

After all, he did want to remain dead, did he not?

**. o 0 o 0 o . **

Fifteen days had passed since the day of the accident.

Raphael remained unmoving on his bed like a pharaoh in his tomb.

He would stir and groan every once in a while, but not by much. He had almost, seemingly, been turned into a giant darker green statue with cracked, blistered and slits adorning his skin. His blood had stopped leaking on the sheets in a sticky mass of blackish, maroon purple with a tint of red, clearly because of the toxic he was exposed to, seeing his body absorbed it all.

His skin had grown about twice thicker, his body had grown a fair bit in size, to the point the bed's legs started to bend from the massive weight placed upon them. His flesh had remained cracked but no longer bleeding, almost like the desert sand when they crack up with the intense heat, threatening to peel itself off. The situation worsens when he goes into a state of hyperthermia, his body heats and he sweats, and the sweat reeks of the toxin like a foggy cloud of poison.

Breathing in the air for long periods will slowly make one's lungs diminish. Tests were run and I have the results to prove it.

But after a bit of treating we figured out a salve of sorts Raphael will need to take on a regular daily basis, in order to prevent his body odor of being so poisonous. It won't stop it from poisoning those around him, but it would make it easier to treat on the long run. He might have to wear a special suit that will prevent the smell from spreading, though.

Also, since now there is no longer a threat of infecting anyone physically, the only way for anyone to get killed while interacting with him, would be if they apply his mutated blood into an open mound, which I wouldn't know why they'd even try. The medic staff had to change and then dispose of the used and stained bed sheets, exclaiming that they were not washable, but burning them wasn't an option since the odor was the main problem.

The mutated blood samples were tested on animals and as expected, it didn't take more than an hour before the creatures suffered a horrendous state of hyperthermia. Their coat or fur fell off as if being burned off from the inside, as their skin started to slit and tear itself apart, their saliva mixed with hints of blood, then after six hours of suffering instant and sudden death came. Most animals would suddenly start in a fit of loud painful screeching or shrikes as they would thrash around in agony, then just as suddenly stop dead in their tracks, literally dead.

Raphael's condition is by far most stable, despite the fact that he hadn't woken up longer than ten minutes, yet. No signs of sudden death whatsoever, and he's not suddenly screaming in a fit of agony, so I'm guessing there is probably a better chance of his survival. After all, it had been about two weeks now, a lot longer than the test animals had survived.

Michelangelo, although also surviving with not so much physical pain event, on the other hand, his lower body is not doing so well.

I'm afraid we might have to remove his legs before the damaged, burnt cancer-like infection reaches over his knees. The skin is almost peeling and melting right off on its own, especially around the joints like the toes, ankles and knees, and in a worse cause than Raphael's, it had grown disgustingly mushy and lumpy, with bright-greenish like lumpy zit.

Poking them hard enough would puncture them and cause a gash, it would ooze out the foam-like greenish matter, mixed with purplish black blood as well, but in a shade lighter than Raphael, as well as leaning more to the color purple than black. It was recognized as a type of rotting-fungi forming under his skin, mixed with the sweat and dirt that gradually gathered under his kneepads.

In other words, Michelangelo's body had somehow absorbed the toxic, but like a sponge, the alien substance itself somehow reacted to the body salts, and reacted violently to it at that, and then broke his body from the inside, not the outside like it had done to Raphael. I'm afraid the only way to spare him is to remove his legs, they're no longer functional and they're a danger to his health.

True he may never walk again, and he might have to use a wheelchair until he is stable enough, finishes a rehab treatment and get readied for installing bionic legs via surgery, they'll be far more efficient than his current ones. It's all a matter of time and acceptance to do so. Even if he refused to chop off those legs, we'll do it regardless, I rather keep him alive for the moment than kill him off. Even his shell suffers the infection, so I know once his condition is stable we will carry on with the surgery before the infection reaches deeper within the body.

Leatherhead might like to know his friends are still intact when we actually find him, aside Leonardo and Splinter since it is not my fault they're irredeemable. He'll just have to live with it.

I had asked Nobody to try and find any agitated mutant crocodiles in the sewers, but thus far he had come empty handed. No surprise there, though; Leatherhead has these turtles as friends, so I'm sure that old dog learned new tricks.

Donatello, however, was probably the only one doing better physically. I do hope I can say the same about his mentality though; his current state of mind irks me, and I just can not figure out why. Nowadays, he just sits in the corner of his padded room with his thin legs curled close, arms slumped down, touching the padded floor.

Here I am, at the moment, standing before his chamber and watch him huddled in the corner, sulking the hours away.

Donatello had become such a death-seeker, I figure he'd take his own life whenever he gets the chance. As much as I want to give him hope to make proper use of him, I can not do so when he is too traumatized to even listen to me.

On a whim and against my better judgment to keep this topic a secret, I decided to risk talking to him.

I've originally come here to check on him and clear my mind, but I've felt like I've been running in a circle for too long, perhaps I should stop avoiding the topic, quit the hesitation to talk to him. His body had been modified to disable everything, excluding brain functions, if he tried to enter combat mode or showed aggressive tendencies, so there is no risk of him attacking me.

I entered the code in the door's control panel and stood before the door as it opened, braced myself and entered, then paused again as the door closed behind me. The mechanical instruments installed within the room are programmed to allow me in and out, aside Baxter who has a few narrowed privileges, the two of us have full reign of control over this section of base.

I watched him in silence for a moment longer, the two of us remained unmoving. I wondered what he was thinking and if he acknowledged I was even there, but ignored my presence, then figured he was either too desperate, or depressed to care that I've entered his safety zone, or he had somehow disabled one of his own programs without our knowledge.

"Donatello," I spoke with a stoic blank voice, but at the lack of response I frowned, "I know you can hear me." I continued, dared to step closer and stared down at him, casually stuffing my hands into my pockets. "I think it's about time we talked." I said and awaited his reaction. His head faintly bobbed in a drunk like manner, but still he did not respond, so I decided to keep talking, "It's about your brothers." I confessed.

As expected his head jerked, then slowly raised his chin to look at me through bionic blue eyes, "My- brothers?" he barely whispered, unbelieving. He sounded rather hallow, as if unfamiliar with the concept of having brothers to begin with, and also hallow as if he was talking in a small metal can.

For a moment, I wondered if he was suffering memory loss. That would seriously put a reinforced wall blocking all of my plans! I nodded and swallowed the possible thought, and when it seemed like it barely registered in his mind, I voiced out the answer.

"They are alive, but I can not guarantee they would remain so for long." I stated, and with those words his head shot up in shock. "As I had previously tried to explain, Donatello, when the collusion between you and the truck had accrued, you were killed along with Leonardo and your master, Ms. O'Neil and Mr. Jones are both dead as well, but Raphael and Michelangelo had taken the least damage of it all." I explained.

"Raphael is currently in the state of getting re-mutated and is generally suffering hyperthermia and feverish symptoms, but the scientists here have yet to figure out what triggers them. Michelangelo on the other hand suffers the exact opposite, hypothermia." I took my hands out of my pockets and placed them on my knees, now daring to crouch down and kneel on one knee besides him, voice calm and even, "With your help, we can save them, if you wish for them to be saved."

He stared at me for a moment longer, his robotic eyes rolled about in their socket for a bit, probably his digital memory scoping the scene, zoning in and out for some reason.

Then he finally spoke, "What's the catch?" he somewhat hissed, his frail mechanical hands curled into small bony fists.

Amusingly enough, I couldn't help but quirk a sly grin; always the fast one, that Donatello. "For the moment, there is no catch." I admitted, "Once they are awake, I merely need closure about the accident, and for the moment you three are the only survivors."

"Then what?" he somewhat spat, unmoving, only his blue eyes stared at me.

I shrugged, "Work for me, perhaps?" I tossed it in, "Like I said, I really have no need for you besides feedback to what had happened." I replied, "Also, I need you to contact Leatherhead, he might be of aid in this situation. You and he can get things straightened out."

He didn't answer, instead he turned away in what I felt an angry jerk, and when he didn't reply I stood up and told him to consider the offer, and quietly exit the padded room.

Just as I started to walk down the hall, consumed by my own thoughts, my communicator beeped and I answered it.

I received confirmation that the Sydney woman and the Entity woman had crossed paths whole being escorted from the dining hall to their personal chambers, and the mutant girl suddenly went berserk and tried to attack the other.

Curious yet concerned, I decided to investigate. Something tells me this little skirmish might be more involved in this dilemma than I'd like to think.

Or maybe it's just one of those days that things go horribly wrong.

Once this day is over, I'm going to try and get some decent sleep.

Right about now, my head hurts enough to want to rip it off my own neck!

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: constructive critique welcomed.


	5. Timing

Chapter Five:

------------------

I entered the meeting room where the two women were waiting.

It was something like an interrogation room in a police office, except this one was more for comfort.

Lush furniture and Turkish rugs on the floor, the chandelier above lit softly in a golden-white hue giving this little room a more presidential feel. It also had a smaller coffee table with cushioned armchairs and a sofa, a far office desk at the side where a phone was poised in case of emergency calls.

Of course, the pristine room's furniture was lost to the women, seeing the two ladies sat as far away as possible from each other, and were busy ignoring each others existence to pay attention to the dull little details.

I'm guessing they loath each other with a passion; or something of that nature.

There were two soldiers stood on either side of the entrance with their guns ready.

Considering both ladies were somewhat inhumane, as harmless and dainty as they appear, we knew better than to risk them going berserk on us. The blue haired youth is well known to be a mutant and could spit acid, her agility and ability to latch onto ceilings did not go unnoticed, either. The albino woman however, seemed pretty harmless from what my men had reported. But I knew the Entity people were anything but harmless.

This Sydney woman had behaved rather violently when my men had captured her, prior her imprisonment in the base's holding cells, so I know she can be quite aggressive if she were provoked.

Reports claimed that she used to be a well behaved young lady, but recently her temper had gradually started getting out of hand. She nearly killed someone at her old working place, the restaurant she had fled.

Most of her so-called friends from the restaurant expressed their worries; they said she had been acting rather strange the past few days, complaining about a headache that came every now and then, and about a coworker who kept harassing her. The offender was the one she flipped at and nearly killed; all he suffered was a concussion and a broken arm.

When she ran away, as witnesses say, she had friends to turn back to and helped her hide away from the world.

Of course, the good old gossiping women of so-called friend led me directly to where I could find her and her motley crew. I wanted to apprehend as many of them as possible when I discovered a whole colony of them, taking an old abandoned factory at the outskirts of town as their refuge, but she was the only one I could keep a firm grip on, and she isn't talking. She appears to have a fierce attitude about protecting her friends, probably for the same reasons she's not giving out any information about the underground laboratory we've found in the belly of the sewers.

Versallia, however, seems to be the somewhat the opposite.

She is too quiet, behaved and a bit more cooperative, though still rather stubborn in sharing some information. I know she is not human, her silvery white hair, strange facial looks and alien attire tell me she is not completely human, with alien origins of sorts, but I could not confirm it.

Her eyes were of the clearest blue, almost white, and her brow ridges were bare of any eyebrows, although they had strange faint lines on her brows. When I asked her about her lack of eyebrows, for the sake of starting a conversation, she claimed it was a normal thing in her people; the lines really had no purpose and are just for looks.

The globed crystal we had confiscated from her, however, was explained to be a key of sorts and only she can wield it. She confessed that as an Entity who had lived on the face of this planet for thousands of years, her race were blessed by the ability to bend their surroundings to their wishes. In particular, they could bend anything solid of earth or stone nature.

'Oh yeah, just what we need, an _Earth bender!_' Sydney had commented in a not so friendly manner, but the Entity woman and I looked at her blankly, not understanding the joke, so she merely snorted and muttered '_never mind_,' under her breath.

I found the ability to twist the earth to ones will rather believable, as farfetched as it may have sounded to Baxter, but I've seen far weirder things in this life. I believe if the woman says she can bend the earth using a crystal, then I'm more inclined to believe her, for now.

"Good evening, ladies. I'm sure this is not something to make a fuss about?" I greeted as I walked past them to take the free chair available opposite of where they sat. I settled back and got comfortable, then asset their moods. Sydney appeared rather miffed, whereas Versallia looked as blank as ever. "Now, I assume you two know each other?" I began, hopefully one of them would start explaining.

"Yeah," Sydney began rather angrily, her dark blue eyes narrowed at the albino woman. Her dark blue hair was discolored with strands of silvery white and pitch black, and I could see it happen before my eyes as a layer of her hair started phasing, turning from dark blue to white.

Versallia quietly glanced back at the angry woman, probably noticing the hair changing process as well, but she said nothing to her and turned back to me and merely nodded, confirming that they had indeed met before.

"I see, would either one of you like to explain what had happened?" I questioned, but this time neither one of them spoke.

They warily stared at each other and then at me, as if debating their options of telling me anything at all.

They both knew I was a government agent, therefore they both hesitated about telling me much. For all they know I'm here to take advantage of them and shove them into the first free dissection capsule available. Opposite to belief, I have no intention of doing that to either one of them, not yet, I think I can make more use of them under my employment if they behave, though.

I sighed, took off my glasses and squint as the room's bright lights stung my vision, and then rubbed my sore eyes before I looked at them again. "Now, may I inform you that I am a very busy man, so if you two have anything to talk about, do it now, or I will simply send you back to your private chambers." I warned, perhaps a bluff will rattle them enough to talk.

This time, the Entity woman sighed and was about to speak, but then the blue haired woman hastily shot up in her seat and nearly yelled her accusation, "She's the reason I'm the way I am!" she nearly shrieked, sounding as if the Entity woman had just insulted her, "She and her people! After so long in captivity and living underground, her people decided to use those wretched crystals to enslave us." she spat.

The Entity looked a bit hurt at the blame being thrown at her, but did not argue nor complain, which apparently infuriated the other woman even more. They both sat there staring each other in the eyes.

Sydney looked enraged enough to leap for the kill, whereas Versallia didn't show any sign of discomfort.

"I would have helped you, but I know you never would have stood a chance against my people." The Entity finally spoke, voice soft and perhaps a little wary, "Your powers were admirable, through crude in nature, but they were still not enough to get past them. Releasing you when you still had not perfected your powers, was to throw you to the wolves." She confessed.

"Oh don't you give me that shit!" the younger woman snarled and pushed off her seat to stride angrily towards the other woman. "You never lifted a finger! You just let your people push us around! And if it wasn't for the guys we never would have gotten out of that little hell hole!" she sneered, more streaks of white invaded her otherwise black haired scalp, "In fact, good riddens your damn city fell into the lava pit! Suits you bastards right!"

The two soldiers at the entrance instantly brandished their guns and took aim at the cat fight, the hum of the laser chargers grew louder but neither of the women took notice. Quickly I flashed a hand signal to them to stop, and pushed off my seat to be on the same level as the now white haired angry woman. If the previously-blue haired girl goes physical, then I will handle her myself.

She is so far the only witness we have from the underground city survivors, and we need her alive to lead us to the rest of her colony. Their mutation may not be cured at the time being, but at least the city would be safer if I had them somewhere I could keep an eye on them.

The Entity woman stared for a moment, sighed and then looked at Sydney, "Then I guess you would not appreciate the fact that I'm the reason it's in the lava pit to begin with?" she stated calmly. Taken aback, the younger woman stared a bit awestruck, "It was either your people, or my people." She looked from the woman and towards me, "It was not the easiest choice, and it might have been the right choice, yet in my opinion, it is as well the lesser evil."

"Oh, great, not only are you manipulative bastards, you're backstabbers, too?" she snorted, then started muttering sarcastic jibber-jabber at the other woman, but it was intangible.

"I think we have heard the story from your side, let us hear it from hers." I interrupted, and the two stared at me.

I glanced at the angry woman, her hair now turned completely white. She sent me a scowl before rearing back into her chair, hugged her knees and glared at us, still muttering under her breath. I turned my attention back to Versallia who hadn't looked a little sad, but she always looked sad since the day we captured her trying to enter the dome, so I'm guessing it's simply the way her face looks.

I waited for a moment for Versallia to explain her side of the story, but she merely shook her head, having no information to share. With a frustrated sigh at her change of heart, I called the guards and demanded the women be sent back to their quarters, I will deal with them separately later.

Right now the entity woman is more cooperative so I will start getting answers from her later, I have much to attend to.

**. o 0 o 0 o . **

Unfortunately, Leonardo and Splinter's brains could not be salvaged separately and thus had been combined into one, for each was missing a few physical pieces that only the other provided, in order for them both to function properly and were thus combined as one. Therefore, instead of creating two separate androids, now I only have one with twice the brain capacity.

Somehow, since it is Baxter's idea, I do not feel too eager to see the outcome.

Leonardo or Splinter I can handle in a one on one battle, but twice? It would prove to be a bit tedious. I know I have done so before when I had captured their father, but even then their movements were restricted when the slayer had gone free. Still, I rather not fight them both in the same time, I don't think I'd manage alone against someone with both their abilities.

Something is bound to go wrong, I just know it, I can feel it in my bones.

But for the better or worse, I'll cross my fingers and hope lady luck would get on my side this time, I've had one too many failures this month as it is.

The collaborated craniums had nearly been modified completely into binary code, just about ready to be reprogrammed and installed within a computer system that can easily understand the language, and easily apply any tweaks or fixing at later use. If there is one thing I can't stand is a complex machine that makes your hair go gray, just trying to fix a little mistake in its previous programming, is when it won't let the corrections go through, or can't disable some functions, or is not compatible with new system upgrades and the like.

Baxter had been allowed full reign to dispose of any emotional recollections to some memories, as long as common sense is still in there somewhere, so I will hope he will do it right this time. I want them to have artificial intelligence to match a human mind, in order to figure out how to improve the Slayers training, yet I want them to have no emotions whatsoever to prevent possible rebelling, it would be nothing but a hindrance later on, anyway.

I've managed most of my travel through the building on foot, though there are miniature cars allowed for easier travel. I prefer walking, it's healthier and provides good exercise. I've realized that the less I exercise the faster my body's cellular structure falls apart, and the more frequently I need to switch to another vessel, so I need to keep my modified bodies in shape as much as possible.

One would think clones are easy or even cheap to make, but they're not.

Months ago the turtles discovered my secret cloning chamber, destroyed some of its vital machineries, and thus I had to dispose of most of the clones and hide the rest in my other chamber. I needn't get questioned by higher ranked government agents, so I need to keep my personal projects a secret. The only reason Baxter had not said anything about it, is because he knows what would happen to him as well if he spilled the beans to anyone.

"How are the preparations going, Stockman?" I said loudly as I burst into the cloning chamber.

The holographic vision of an African-American man jumped and twirled around, startled at the sudden and loud entrance. "Don't you ever knock!?" he grunted in distaste, "You nearly made me burn the circuit of three days worth of hard work!" he exclaimed.

He stood at a table where a six foot tall robot lay, its head contained a gap whereas an artificial brain was displayed on a small plate-like metal pedestal besides it. There were small wires and cords connecting the brain with a computer than sat on the other end of the table, and Baxter was ironing the last wires between the inside of the skull and the brain together.

"That doesn't answer my question." I growled.

After that, I adjusted my glasses and looked down at the robot practice dummy my slayers usually practice with in their combat sessions. It is made of reinforced steel to prevent as much damage as possible. I've had enough fixing to do with many practice dummies, so I've had the slayers put only half their strength into their sessions, and doubled the hardness of the robots.

"Someone obviously missed his nap." the African-American somewhat smiled smugly, but at my glare it twitched, but didn't fully leave his blue-shaded hologram face, "Honestly, agent Bishop, when was the last time you had a decent rest?" he huffed a bit, though oddly enough I felt a friendly vibe in his voice, "You look like you hadn't slept a wink in weeks."

I huffed irritably and glared at him a bit more sourly, "Considering all the shit that hit the fan recently, how can I?" I replied.

Irritatingly and infuriatingly enough, he shifted his weight to one side and cupped his metallic hip-bone of a skeletal frame; he almost appeared like a mother lecturing her child! "Honestly now, you're all riled up and cranky. No wonder you hadn't been able to get any worthwhile work done, you're a mess!" he exclaimed, half taunting, half concerned. "Listen, as your employee, and a doctor of high degree who knows how messed up people can be with lack of sleep, I _strongly_ suggest you get some shut eye. Trust me, you'll thank me for it in the morning." He then added, a little nicer.

"Are you mocking me?" I sneered, resisting the urge to punch his face in, but then a wave of heat abruptly blossomed through my chest and sent a dizzy spell to my head. I palmed my face to ease the dizziness; that was- unnatural.

He sighed, "See? Your body is created to tolerate heavy physical activities and long hours of work. What it was _not_ designed to do is handle lack of rest and mental pressure on the only thing keeping it functional!" he exclaimed and pointed to my head. "Honestly! Every mad doctor needs his sleep, or else you'll just become too mad for your own good, as contradicting as that sounded." He then chuckled, mildly amused at his own oxymoron.

Seeing his point but not wanting to admit it, I growled that perhaps I _do_ just need silence to help me relax, and told him to get back to work and make sure it was done by tomorrow.

He merely chuckled and waved a dismissive hand, before turning back to his project.

Tired, cranky and a bit tight with my body growing a bit hotter, I tugged at my tie to loosen it to allow easier breathing, and then unbuttoned the shirt buttons again, I seem to be doing that out of habit whenever this body overheats. I figure I might either need to keep my temper in check, or switch to a new body. If these discomforts keep happening, a new body would probably be the only choice.

I'll give it another week after I've gotten a decent amount of sleep. I've just switched to this body three months ago, it is too early to jump into a new one.

It didn't take me more than a good half hour walk from the cloning facilities, down the hall, down to the second basement, and into the elevator past the soldier dormitories. I have a private chamber all the way up at the very top of the building, and the only way to get there is through the soldier dormitory ward. The whole building is bomb proof in case the place got attacked, or if one of the nearby facilities combusted. Also, the only way to get to me would mean having to go through the sentry ward, and it's well guarded twenty-four-seven like a busy beehive.

Once in my room, I threw off the jacket and placed the glasses on the office desk.

My room only had one window but it was made of the same material that covered Donatello's brain, so it was bullet proof and sure enough to deflect any possible attacks. I know some might disagree that having my room wide open with a large window is a stupid thing to do, but if I hide like a mouse in the belly of the earth, how cowardly would that make me? I'm not afraid to face those who are out to kill me, I'm willing to fight them off if I have to. I did not survive this long by simply hiding behind bullet-proof walls, after all.

Since I was sweaty and tired, I took a quick shower and relaxed in the hot tub, letting my body unwind with the soothing waters. I guess I was so tired I nearly fell asleep, so I had to force myself to abandon the pleasant indulgence of a hot soak, got dried and popped those stiff joints, before climbing into bed. I might take another soak tomorrow when I have more time and aren't so aggravated. I think I really need one.

Next thing I remember was throwing myself into bed, and had probably been out like a light before my head even hit the pillow.

And then I smiled, surrounded by sweet nothingness.

**. o 0 o 0 o . **

Next morning, I awoke at the sound of the alarm clock, beeping loudly and making a fuss about how it was already eight in the morning, and complaining why I wasn't up and dressed for work yet.

I had half a mind to smash it with my fist where it stood, but the thought of having to fix it afterwards made me reconsider the thought.

Grudgingly I groaned with a low growl in the pit of my throat, and forced myself out of bed to freshen up.

I felt heavy and sluggish, and dearly hoped I didn't catch a cold after the shower last night, I really don't have time to nurse a head cold. There is much to be done and off the wrong side of the bed, I figure it might take a few days before I manage to keep my temperament tame. I'm so angry at everything right now, I'm simply being angry at being unable to keep my anger smothered down.

It took me about an hour with my sluggish state to actually finish dressing and head to my office. I was rather annoyed when I saw Baxter was already there, working on his portable laptop on my desk instead of using his own office.

"Stockman, I assume you have a good reason to be using my computer this early in the morning?" I growled, adjusted my tie and smoothed back my hair; it felt spiky like the back of a porcupine, but looking at a mirror I can tell it was just my mood.

He almost didn't even flinch at my arrival, he merely glanced up and finished typing whatever it was he was working on, before greeting me. "Good morning to you, too, agent Bishop. I can tell you've been off the wrong side of the bed." He chuckled, not at all alarmed at my arrival. "But I hope today would be better, for I have much new data to share." He merrily gloated in that annoyingly happy voice of his, "As for why I am using your desk, Agent Bishop, I was simply transferring the backup flies of my research into your computer, since I had yet not received any further information from the dome team, and I know how much you like to read ready reports before breakfast."

"Frankly, they weren't kidding when they said you were married to your work." He jibbed.

With a grump, I crossed my arms and glared, unimpressed, "And?"

He tapped his fingers across the keyboard for a moment, typing the seconds away as I awaited his reply. It almost felt like he was deliberately ignoring me, but before I could say anything about it, he continued.

"About two hours after you had gone to bed, Raphael woke up and was able to fill us in with the general idea about their experience during the accident." He began, paused to scroll with the mouse a bit and then went back to add to the inserted information, "It is generally just as you have expected. They were at the back of the trailer and the closest to the doors. The car apparently hit something and they all hit the back of the trailer; Raphael claimed everything was swimming at the time and he didn't really understand what was going on." He harrumphed.

"Regardless, Raphael being the first one to hit the door ended up pulling the leaver that opened the thing from the inside. He fell into the toxin and Michelangelo panicked and jumped in after him, unaware of the danger he was literally stepping into." He paused to glance at me, and then just as quickly returned his attention to the computer screen. "Leonardo was about to go after them when Donatello prevented him for some reason, but I assume it was then Donatello saw the tank leaking and the possible flame igniting, and that is when the explosion erupted."

"Apparently the back of the trailer was right next to the leaking tank, so when the explosion accrued, he, their rat master and Donatello were right in the front lines." He roughly hit the enter button, paused for a second before completing file transfer and then started disconnected the laptop from my computer, "Raphael was submerged under the toxin, while Michelangelo was half sunk in the toxin as well as half shielded by the broken trailer doors, it explains why they survived and weren't scorched to death."

"In fact, Raphael claimed the substance was as hard as jello when he sunk under the surface, so I assume it worked as a shield, and when the explosion accrued is merely send him flying, only when he hit the ground from the fierce impact did he pop out of his bubble, where Ananda and Sentry were able to find him." He paused, "How Michelangelo survived, however, is unavailable, he hadn't woken up yet."

I didn't know what to say to him at this big an information-dump, my mind was still muddled from lack of sleep and I felt so blank and unable to focus, but I tried to digest as much information as I could.

"Would you like to talk to them?" he then offered, "Sentry and Ananda are off to New York to try and contact Leatherhead, Donatello requested to talk to you earlier, but since you were asleep he decided he will wait till you were available." He informed, paused for a moment, and then pulled the plug from his computer, completely disconnecting mine from his.

"There, research data file transfer complete." He accounted with a merry tone.

I merely waved him off, I really wasn't in the mood to talk or even lecture, I just wanted something to dull the ache against my skull, and then get whatever work done as soon as possible.

My head hurt and I needed caffeine; black coffee sounds good right about now.

Simply put, he took his belongings and left, while I settled on my leather chair and read the file documents he had inserted. As much as I hate sharing my computer with anyone, Baxter might be the only person I trust, though very little, to share the machine with. We both have the habit of making obscures codes for passwords instead of words, which we change regularly, so it takes a while for each of us to figure out the others username and password.

In a better mood, I'd consider it a time consuming challenge of wits and smarts, now I'm just too cranky to consider it.

Skimming through the articles and paragraphs with hazy unfocused eyes and a muddled mindset, I palmed my face and rubbed by eyes. I was just too restless and tired despite the long night sleep to be able to focus on reading anything. I could just go and take another long nap, but there was much to do and so little time to waste.

I guess it goes with the position of being a government agent. Sometimes, there is just no rest for the living.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: IMHO, he might be a government agent, but he's still human. Constructive critique is welcomed.


End file.
